An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
near death experience, blood, violence, background character death
He shook his head out of his thoughts when he found it growing a little darker, the spotlights of neon around his feet growing fewer and further between. He lifted his gaze and found less screens, more of the ones present broken. The colour around him more came from graffiti sprawled on tall walls now, and a memory of some second grade assembly about bad neighborhoods tugged on the back of his mind- pushed aside just as fast, he wasn’t that far from the turn that would take him to a main road.
Then he heard the clatter- sharp, chaotic, loud, shattering the stillness of the backroad like something breaking loose.
--
Or, Mumbo is in the wrong place at the wrong time, as he tends to do.
--
hello, the first v&v canon writing wow
this story is mostly intended to be a comic, but i got excited about these two and just wanted to write about them. i haven't written fanfic since roughly 2023 but i'm very proud of how this turned out!
this is my new au, sacrificial lamb, where i've hand picked my favorite block men to be placed in the world of reanimal. if you don't know what reanimal is, it's the new game created by the original developers of the little nightmares series.
in this story, techno and tommy are two siblings in a war-struck world. the horror of living a stream away from a trench was not a new one to them, the scent of death and copper following the breeze to their farmhouse everyday. so, what are they meant to do it all changes? the ocean around the islands of their home have risen, and monsters come with it. as they make their way to find their friends- dream, mumbo, and grian- they fight just to live to try.
tommy's face is hidden so his hands look like he's extremely frustrated but he's looking at them wondering what he's done. you know what you've done, tommy. and pretend i wasn't too lazy to put dirt and water on their clothes
the content warning is for the entire story, not just this chapter. not all are in this chapter, but all will come up along the way.
also, this is not beta read.
i want to be very clear, i don't support dream as a creator. however, i've been building this character for years (since long before i knew of any drama) and don't associate them anymore.
since ao3 keeps going down i'm also putting the chapter under the cut
The water moved fast from last night’s rain, waves swelling and crashing down with strength the boy under could not match, foam gathering in the bends. As water forced its way into his nose and mouth, his chest convulsed in an automatic motion, drawing more in. Half-conscious, he surfaced for seconds at a time before being dragged under again.
The current did not slow for him; it pressed him down, folded him into itself, tugged him through its narrowed turns as if he were nothing more than run-off. Until it did, and his mind rose from the dregs of unconsciousness as the waves above settled as if blocked, crashing around him but no longer against. Solid pressure clamped around his arm, and freezing air hit him as the surface broke above.
First only his arm, pulled out before falling back under with the water’s desperate drag. With it, he faded again.
Techno’s eyes flew open, along with an intake of air forced by water compressed from his stomach, in response to a voice above him. Limbs went flying as he lunged without thought, moving on instinct alone. Hands found a neck, and thumbs pressed where Techno felt the ridged windpipe. When smaller hands closed around his wrists, he pressed harder.
Catching sight of blonde hair and blue eyes, the panic returned before he could fully realize just who he held under himself. His mind recognized Tommy a beat before his hands did. His grip tightened, then with a reversal so sudden it left him reeling, he shoved the boy away just as he sent himself falling backward. Hitting a cold floor, damp with water, the impact shocked clarity into him. The salt was still in his mouth, the ocean hadn’t quieted. The boards beneath him turned to tide, then snapped solid when he forced himself to focus.
It was wrong. He knew the ocean. He knew its routes, its moods. Knew the small stretch of islands they called home, the farmhouse perched just far enough from the trenches to pretend safety. He knew the sound of distant shelling at dusk. Knew the way the tide curled around the docks. He did not know this.
He searched for the memory of how he’d ended up in the water. There wasn’t one. No fall. No shove. No storm swallowing the horizon. Just the certainty of drowning and the knowledge that he had been.
The last thing he could grasp was lanterns swinging in familiar rafters. Bootprints tracked in mud. Tommy arguing about something small and inconsequential. A door shutting. After that? Nothing. He shook his head. Wet hair dragged across his back, and it was too much. Wind, water, breath– and he realized, a little late, that the last came from the unmoving brother across from him.
Looking over to Tommy with an unstable relief, he laughed once, sharp and wrong, turning into something like a sob at the end. It took all his strength not to vomit, knowing a wrong move could have been a snapped neck– knowing he had almost followed through.
His thumbs burned with knowledge of the shape of a windpipe. His fingers spasmed with the urge to close. He curled his hands together, as if keeping them from Tommy. His brain replayed the cartilage shifting. Imagined the crack. Neck bent wrong. Blue eyes unfocused. Silence where breath should be. Like punishment, nails dug into his palms, and he watched his hands like they weren’t his own.
“Hey,” Tommy’s voice finally cut through, when Techno’s breaths became some mockery of even.
“Hey.” Techno returned, slipping out without his bidding.
A pause as Tommy sat up, propping himself against the low wall of the boat. “I thought you were dead.”
Techno didn’t like the way Tommy said it; not relieved, just confused. “Where are the others?”
That time, Tommy’s words came quicker, “Don’t know.”
“Hiding?” Techno guessed.
Tommy nodded. One small, brief down-turn of his head. But he was still unsure, and Techno noticed. “They were scared.”
Techno didn’t question him. If Tommy wanted to keep it to himself, so be it.
Something had happened. He didn’t know what. He only knew they weren’t home. Whatever had forced them into open sea had not been an accident. They wouldn’t be going back. Not to the farm, not to the docks. If there were answers, they were behind them, and he had no intent to turn around now.
The other were missing, that was the only thing worth digging for.
He had to busy his hands, so he pulled his lantern free from the clasp on his hip, sure it wouldn’t work but desperate for light in the abyss of night and sea. He tried several times, turning the dial with increasing frustration, until finally– flame flickered to pitiful life. That small spot of vision steadied him, the one sense he hadn’t been warring with since he first met the ocean below. He played with the dials until it grew, and he let out a rasped breath as the lantern finally came to its typical flame. It took a stronger setting to get it, but he would take what he could get. Someday, he may come across a new one, but he tried not to think so far ahead.
“Will you shine that ahead?” Tommy asked.
Techno looked up, seeing Tommy’s features for the first time since hands around a neck, pressing in, nails catching– but now, bathed in lanternlight. “Yeah,” he managed.
Tommy finally filled the silence, as he always did. He tuned it out, as he never did before, and turned to face the bow of the small boat before shifting onto his knees. He shook at just that effort, so he stayed there, arm stretching over the wood wall to illuminate. Just enough.
Knowing Tommy could direct the boat just fine himself, he hooked the lantern where it belonged and rested his head against the lip of the wall, resisting nausea as he tried to fade into nothing again. He appreciated not having to face Tommy, though even with words forming nothing in his mind, Tommy’s voice grated on nerves fried by the experience of feeling like something the ocean had tossed around for sport.
But he was used to it- something would always set him off nowadays, and never would Tommy fail to hate the quiet. So he did rest, head cushioned on arms, falling into dreams of war. Sometimes, war where his home had become a battlefield with no warning for children like him to flee, sometimes where ocean fought to keep him.
The dreams didn’t last long. They never did, when Tommy was steering. There was a scrape of something beneath them, the engine’s pitch lifting, strained. Even asleep, he knew it, and through the fog of dream he felt the familiar change stir him to wake.
Tommy’s voice had carried on, too loud, too bright. “-- and then, I told him, I said, ‘You can’t just’–”
The boat lurched, and Techno didn’t care who he told what. Not a gentle bump, not an accident. A full-bodied, teeth-rattling impact as the hull plowed into sand at a speed it absolutely did not need to have. Wood screamed, the bow punched forward and stuck. The rest of the boat shuddered violently around it.
His head snapped up before he was fully conscious, instincts honed to survive those moments that Tommy thought he needed land so bad he may as well race the tide to it. One hand shot to the side of the boat to steady himself, the other reaching to grab his lantern before it could be slammed between boat and land.
Silence followed the crash.
Techno inhaled slowly. In, out.
“I’m awake.” He said flatly, voice rough from sleep and salt.
Tommy didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, good.”
Techno closed his eyes for one last second, letting the last of the dream drain out of him. The war receded. The ocean stopped clawing at his lungs. In its place: sand grinding against hull. The rush of waves– no longer beneath or over him. Tommy used to laugh when he did it. Back when crashing the boat was a game. When Phil would sit with a fishing rod and pretend not to encourage it. Now, he watched instead. Techno didn’t like this development. He wondered if the change was new, or if it came earlier and he simply hadn’t noticed.
“You overshot on purpose.”
“Did not.”
“You always did.”
Another pause. Then, sheepish, lacking theatric Techno thought it’d hold. “It’s efficient.”
Techno pushed himself fully upright now, nausea rolling back in at the sudden motion. The shore lay beneath and ahead, pale stretch of sand, harmless, unmoving. Not endless sea nor trenches.
Tommy was already scrambling to stand, as if nothing had happened, as if ramming a boat into land was simply how one concluded a journey. He knew better. Tommy never let him wake gently, never let him wake to silence, because then dream would war with reality just a little longer. He exhaled through his nose, long and measured, and hauled himself to his feet despite a lingering numbness.
“Next time,” he muttered, pushing Tommy back so he could step over the boat wall and onto shore first, “try a little harder not to break my boat.”
Techno felt wet sand settle under him, and sturdy ground that didn’t even think to shift and sway had him thinking that everything could be alright, if just for a minute.
Lit by poor, flickering lightbulbs settled high on walls, suitcases– tens of them– lay scattered all around the shore. Some broke open, others latched shut. From them, the scent of mold carried on a breeze. Only ten meters ahead he could count, then the shore cut off into a wall of brick, cut only by mangled roof and metal barred window. The shore stretched across a hundred odd yards, to the left lifting into a ledge of stone against the tall building. Too tall to climb. And finally, to the right, a rusted chainlink fence and a metal door into that same building.
Behind him, only water.
Splitting off, Techno lit his lantern to further brighten the area around him. He heard Tommy click his lighter on and begin to open the suitcases. He didn’t care why the cases mattered.
Hooking the lantern on his belt, Techno crossed the door and tested the handle. It didn’t turn. He rattled it once, hard enough to be sure, then let it fall still. Locked.
A shriek cut across the shore.
He glanced back in time to see a rat bolt from the suitcase Tommy just opened, as Tommy stumbled away from it with a yelp. Techno exhaled in relief. He wished a rat were still something worth jumping at. He left Tommy to it and moved to the fence instead. Chainlink, rusted through in places, but the lock on the other side held firm. He shook the fence once. It clattered and settled. No give there either.
Nothing forward. Nothing right. Nothing but sea behind them. He drew in a breath to call it.
“Thanks, rat!”
Techno blinked. What.
He turned sharply this time, already scanning for fur, blood, anything wrong. But the rat was gone. In it’s place, metal in Tommy’s hand caught the flickering light.
“Did it bite you?” He called.
“No! It showed me a key!”
“…Okay,” Techno said, because there were worse things than your brother believing in helpful rats.
“A rat key! Now where’s the rat door?”
“This door’s locked,” Techno replied, “Has a keyhole.”
Tommy gasped like this confirmed everything and tore across the sand. Techno met him there as Tommy fumbled the key toward the lock. It scraped twice before finding the slot, then Tommy fumbled with which direction to turn it. Techno said nothing, he had learned that patience long ago.
The click came, and Techno put a hand on Tommy’s shoulder to guide him aside, stepping between his brother and the door. Where Tommy would usually resist, he only followed the hand. Then, Techno took the handle and twisted. The door dragged inward, heavy, hinges creaking like a scream. His stomach dropped. Something would hear that.
Inside, a maintenance tunnel opened beneath them. They stood on a narrow mezzanine overlooking a cracked stone floor below. A ladder led down between thick pipes that ran along the walls, and they descended quickly. Nothing waited on the floor– only a wide tunnel yawning to the left, its barred covering wrenched open. No other exits, no other choice. They slipped inside.
Their steps echoed too loud, the air growing heavier the farther they went. Then the floor trembled beneath them. A low mechanical whine swelled into something deafening.
They emerged into a larger chamber. To the left, a massive industrial fan, blades spinning to fast to even see past, sealing off the passage beyond. Techno spotted the emergency switch next, and he took quick hold, the lever creaking against the motion as he pushed down. The whine dropped in pitch, the blades slowed.
“Go,” He snapped, grabbing Tommy’s hand and running.
They splashed through shallow water coating the concrete. The blades were still turning, slower now, slow enough.
Halfway through, the motor roared back to life.
“Move!” Techno shoved Tommy ahead, watching him stumble through the gap just as the blades began to pick up speed.
Techno followed on his heels. One blade clipped the air near his boot as he dove past.
Tommy hit the wet ground hard beside him, the fan screaming back to full power behind them. Techno skidded in the water before he went down too. The tunnel filled with the roar of displaced air, walls rattling with each rotation. Despite his body aching from impact, he forced himself upright and grabbed for Tommy.
No time. Places like these, lit and running, existed for someone. It would never be them.
He hauled Tommy up by his hand and shoulder until Tommy found his footing and pushed up on his own. The tunnel narrowed until it didn’t. It simply ended, brick wall slick with condensation, a rusted grate bolted into it, water spilling lazily through the gaps. No way forward.
Techno stepped closer, lantern light catching on something darker in the floor– a seam. “There,” he said.
A wide metal trapdoor sat half-submerged beneath the water, two handles just above the surface. Tommy crouched without being told. Together, fingers slipping against cold metal, they pried it upward. It resisted, then gave. Techno held it open as Tommy slipped through into the dark beneath. Then, Techno shoved it wider, dropped down, and the trapdoor slammed shut overhead. The fall wasn’t far, but the landing jarred. Water surged up to meet them, higher here, halfway to Techno’s knees. This tunnel was older, stone instead of brick.
They moved, each step dragged through water that resisted like hands. The passage stretched long and dim until at last, a ladder rose from the flood, bolted into the wall. Tommy went up first. Techno waited until he was steady before following, clinging to wet rungs, heart dropping each time his boot lost traction and slid with a metal scrape. The air grew warmer as they climbed.
They emerged into an open chamber. It was enormous. Pipes crossed the ceiling in tangled arteries. The room extended up and up, layered with metal walkways and platforms like ribs lining a cavern. Stairs waited to the left. Techno took them two at a time, boots ringing against metal until they reached a mezzanine that spanned the length of the room. From there, another platform loomed higher still.
Tommy crouched, hands cupped. “Up.”
Techno hesitated only a second before stepping into his hands. Tommy shoved him upward with a grunt, and Techno caught the lip of the higher floor, hauling himself over the edge. He turned immediately, leaning down. When Tommy jumped, Techno grabbed his wrist and pulled until both of them collapsed onto the floor.
They didn’t rest there.
This platform wrapped around the room’s perimeter, the floor finally dry beneath their feet as they followed it to the opposite side where another ladder waited. They climbed until they reached narrow suspension bridges stretched across open air, swaying slightly with each step, enough to be felt but not seen. Halfway across, Techno faltered. At the far end of the bridge, a barred opening cut into the wall sealed off another tunnel beyond. And inside, someone sat with his back to them.
Motionless. Head bowed. For a moment, Techno thought it might be something else entirely. Then the figure shifted. A white mask caught the dim light as he glanced over his shoulder, adjusting it before turning fully.
“You came back,” Dream said quietly, “I knew you would.” But he didn’t speak with relief. More-so distaste, resignation.
Tommy rushed the rest of the way, steps pounding first on metal grate then on solid concrete, his fingers curling around the bars. “It’s okay! We’ll get you out!”
Techno didn’t move closer. “How’d you end up there?”
Dream stood slowly. Even at this distance, Techno saw he was worn thin. His clothes hung looser, posture bowed, hands trembling. “You should leave… while you still can.” And Dream turned and walked into the dark, sparing one last look– not to Tommy’s shouts, but to Techno. Not pleading, warning.
With a shared look, the brothers sighed. Going back was not an option.
They moved through more of it. More buttons that groaned when forced down, more pipes to duck under, more slick ladders to climb. A building forcing them to run, to time their steps, to trust the rhythm of machinery they did not understand.
Finally, a door was shoved open, moonlight shining above. They stepped out into a trainyard. Tracks spidered outward in neat lines, rusted freight cars sat derailed and hollow. Grass pushed up between metal. Wind moved freely. No workers, no noise, no movement. Just a single hand car sitting on one stretch of rail.
Techno heard Tommy murmur something about relief, and he offered only a nod in reply. Neither could say they were anything short of relaxed by the development of open air, an escape left to be appreciated. But when he approached with shaky steps, of course, an immediate problem. Two wheels missing.
He shook his head, turning over his shoulder, “Wheels are missing, two of them,” he called out.
When Tommy looked over with exhaustion, he didn’t offer consolation. Instead, Techno only continued before Tommy could complain. “Check the yard, I’ll take inside.”
So he crossed the yard to the opposite side, to the other sector of the building that just didn’t want to end.
The door pushed open easier, lighter. But inside, the air felt heavier.
The floor gave way ten steps in. Not collapsed, just parted. A clean split ran through the concrete, diving the corridor into two narrow paths, meeting at stairs that connected them and led to a door. Railing guarded one side, the other was a straight drop into dark so complete it swallowed his lanternlight whole.
He kept to the side with a railing. Taking the staircase, his hand never left the rail. The room was storage. Shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, stacked with boxes labeled in fading ink. Some had collapsed inward, their contents long since settled into nothing. Dust lay undisturbed across most surfaces.
Something hung from the pipes overhead. He thought it was fabric at first, torn insulation, maybe. But it swayed in air that did not move.
He turned his head up. It was high above, folded in on itself as if discarded. It was a shirt, there must’ve been a draft higher up. He looked away, gaze dragging back down, to the back corner of the room. There, propped against a stack of crates, half-hidden in shadow, a wheel that flooded sharp relief. He crossed the room quickly, now ignoring what was draped above him. He crouched to lift the wheel, and it was heavier than expected.
Behind him, something shifted, a sound like wet canvas pulled across concrete. He turned, one of the hanging shapes had slipped from the pipe. It did not drop, it slid down the wall.
He did not wait to see more. The wheel dug into his palms as he straightened, metal biting cold on wet skin. Too heavy to carry easily, but too necessary to drop.
He heard something else peel loose behind him. A second shape slide from the rafters without a sound. It folded wrong as it descended, limbs bending inward like sleeves without arms. When it hit the floor, it did not crawl, it slid.
Techno backed toward the door. They moved without bones. Without breath. Skin dragging itself forward in long pulls, fingers flattening, stretching, limbs dragging behind as they simply slid forward with lack of something as logical as serpentine movement. Their faces– if those were faces– were smooth and empty, features pressed flat as if erased.
One reached a bottom shelf and poured over it.
He turned and ran.
The wheel threw off his balance immediately. It forced him sideways, shoulder twisting to keep from slipping. He clipped a stack of boxes, sending them crashing down behind him, and the sound seemed to wake the room. More dropped. Everything he brushed off as insulation, tarp, or canvas took shape. From pipes. From shelves. From inside half-collapsed crates. The sound of them was worse than footsteps. A damp dragging, a pull like something being reeled in.
The wheel slipped in his grip, and he scrambled to keep it as he reached the staircase, down two steps at a time. They didn’t hesitate at the drop, they didn’t need the stairs. One slid under the edge, hitting the corridor in a soundless heap before gathering itself and sliding after him.
The door, it was close, and he leapt a gap in the floor to reach it, but more came up over the lip, and he almost lost his breath as the sounds continued to follow close. He hit the door shoulder-first, struggling with the weight of the wheel in one hand as he twisted the handle and pushed the door open.
He threw himself outside, then turned to slam the door shut with his weight. The silence was immediate, the dragging stopped. He stood there, chest heaving, forehead pressed to metal. Waiting for something, but nothing came.
He forced himself to walk, not run, to the middle of the trainyard. There, Tommy looked up from the grass with a wheel in hand. Techno shoved his own wheel on first, then went to Tommy’s side, helping to align and push it forward.
And all the while, his mind was stuck, choosing just how much to say.
His arm outstretched for Tommy’s hand to push down on, stabilizing as Tommy stepped up onto the hand car. He followed after, pressing a hand down on the wooden floor as he brought his knees up before standing. His body begged for rest, and he knew that moving without reprieve after nearly drowning was not a logical, nor beneficial choice– not for himself.
He gripped one handle, made sure Tommy was steady with the other, and helped to push them along the rail.
As they went, Tommy finally broke heavy silence. “You have a thousand yard stare, Tech.”
Techno blinked. With the reminder, he pulled his expression under control. Tommy’s expression shifted at the ease of it.
“.. What’d you see?” Tommy asked.
Techno didn’t quite know how to answer. At first, he worried Tommy would laugh and brush it off, then he remembered the world was no longer sensical.
“Monsters.” Techno said.
“.. What kind of monsters?”
“Empty men that moved like snakes– no, like they were pulled on string.”
He watched Tommy’s brows furrow as he pushed his handle down, and the brief silence made way for the sound of the hand car trembling, moving fast down the track as it rumbled.
“Empty,” Tommy repeated, quieter. “Like.. hollow?”
Techno nodded once. “Like something took what was inside, but not the life.”
Tommy’s grip faltered on the handle, the hand car dipped unevenly before he corrected it, jaw tightening as he forced his weight back into rhythm.
Techno’s body begged for the momentary reprieve that Tommy’s falter had given. He ignored it in favor of how Tommy seemed like he was thinking. Processing something new, but not confused nor disbelieving.
“You’ve seen something like it.” Techno said. It wasn’t a question.
Tommy turned his gaze to face where they were going, one hand continuing to push the handle. “They’ve been changing,” he explained, finally. “The things out there. First it was just– wrong animals. Then people who weren’t people anymore. But this..”
That settled heavy. Techno didn’t ask, because– just like Tommy– he stared at what waited ahead.
The past would be behind, waiting.
“It doesn’t matter. We just don’t go back in there.” Tommy said.
“We weren’t going to,” Techno replied, a hint of confusion that time. Why would Tommy even imagine they’d go back?
The hand car picked up speed as the track sloped downward, allowing them to stop pushing. With silence fallen over them, Techno allowed his body to still, getting some semblance of rest as they waited for the ground to even out. As his focus came on his body, he recognized an ache in his head now– just what he needed.
Far too late, as Tommy had already wrenched the brake down, hand car screaming against the rails and sparks flying beneath them, Techno realized that the tunnel did not even out, it ended. The rails simply stopped. They were jerked forward, Techno grabbing the frame to keep from being thrown, hand reaching out to wrap around Tommy’s chest to keep from hitting metal.
Ahead, the tunnel mouth had collapsed inward. Concrete and stone buried the tracks in a jagged wall of rubble. Rebar twisted through it like exposed bone. There was no squeezing through.
Tommy let out a breath that bordered on a laugh, and he almost sounded genuinely amused. “Right. Of course.”
Techno pressed a hand to his temple, steadying himself. The ache there pulsed in time with his heartbeat.
“Switch,” he muttered.
Tommy blinked. Then he followed Techno’s gaze back down the tunnel. Half-hidden along the wall, a lever.
They worked in silence, pushing the hand car backward just enough to clear the junction. The mechanism resisted at first, then snapped into place with a heavy clunk that echoed down both branching tunnels. The new track curved sharply, veering away from the collapse and into darker rail. They pushed again.
It wasn’t long before the tunnel widened, something looming ahead. A train car, derailed. One side tilted off its wheels, windows shattered, metal peeled open like something had tried to pry its way out from inside.
Techno stepped off first. “Through,” he said quietly.
Tommy didn’t argue.
They climbed into the broken car through a split seam in the metal. Inside, seats were broken off walls and overturned, luggage torn open. A long dried streak across the floor that Techno refused to think about.
They passed through and out the far door, and Techno stopped to look at the open area in which they emerged. There, two trains sat parallel, mostly intact. Then movement caught Techno’s eye. On the further train, a figure climbed the side ladder- green hoodie. It was Dream. Dream reached the top, wrenched open a roof hatch, and disappeared inside.
Tommy was already moving.
“Wait–” Techno hissed, but he followed anyway.
The climbed the ladder on the far train, and Techno caught the hatch Dream had left ajar, dropping himself through and catching Tommy on his way down, steadying him on his feet. They stood in a passenger car. Wooden benches lined both walls, facing eachother, narrow aisle between. The doors to the next car stood half-shut, Dream’s boots disappeared through them, and Techno followed on Tommy’s heels.
In the second car, he wasn’t standing. He was crouched beneath one of the long benches, shoulders tucked in, head tilted up to greet them. Up close, he looked worse than before. Thinner, dirt smudged along his sleeves, held like a rabbit ready to run.
He stared at them, and Techno knew he was displeased.
“You’re loud,” Dream said under his breath, something fond under it.
Of course, Tommy bristled, “We–”
“Hide,” Dream cut in, sharper. “Now.”
That tone did it. Techno didn’t question, he dropped flat and slid under the bench where he crouched beside Dream, looking up to watch Tommy drag himself under the one opposite them.
The wood was splintered beneath his palms. Dust clung to his cheek as he turned his head toward the frosted window above Tommy. A shadow passed across it, far too tall. It bent to fit the doorway, the train shifted as it stepped inside. A figure unfolded, slowly, to stand in the car. Standing as tall it could there, it was still bent down. Slender to the point of wrongness, shoulders too narrow, limbs too long. At least something solid filled the skin.
Techno couldn’t see it’s face clearly from his perspective, only how it paused, took a step forward, then another. It bent unnaturally, checking beneath benches, opening luggage cases. Sniffing everywhere it turned it’s head. He saw it get too close to Tommy, and he was ready to get his feet under himself, but Dream moved first.
Dream burst from beneath the bench in a blur of green, and warmth that Techno hadn’t realized he needed was gone. He pulled himself over the bench Tommy had been beneath, ankle caught by the tall thing just as he vaulted through a shattered window frame.
For a second, Dream hung there, and just as Techno tensed to move, he twisted violently and kicked back. The grip slipped, and Dream dropped out of sight. The tall figure straightened in a single unnatural motion and followed, bending sharply to force itself back through the doorway and out of the train.
Techno let out a slow breath, the silence a painful pang in his chest. “He led it,” he muttered.
Tommy was already moving.
“Tommy–”
Too late. Tommy shoved himself out from under the bench and bolted for the broken window. Techno swore and followed. The tall thing was further down the rails now, long strides carrying it after a flicker of green between train cars. Tommy didn’t hesitate, he sprinted low between the trains.
“Stay down,” Techno hissed, but stayed on his heels.
They ducked behind a stack of luggage piled near the tracks. It wasn’t scattered, it was stacked. Carefully, deliberately, case atop case, balanced into uneven towers that created narrow spots to hide. Tommy noticed it too, mouth tightening as he gave the towers a glance.
The tall thing moved at the far end of the row, turning it’s head sharply, peering behind luggage and looking at the tops of train cars, sniffing each way it looked. Was it sorting something?
They moved when it looked away. One pile, pause. Another, wait. Techno kept a hand on Tommy’s back to keep him from bolting too soon. The thing bent, lifting a suitcase and tearing it open with a slow move. Clothes spilled out, it dropped it and turned. They slid behind the next stack.
The second train waited ahead, one window cracked open in a middle car. Techno squeezed Tommy’s sleeve and pointed, mouthing “now.”
They ran, bent low, and hauled themselves up, Techno pushing Tommy through first before pulling himself in after. He glanced right, then left, catching Dream ducked under a bench at the far end of the car. Techno raised a hand in a sharp gesture, holding his gaze. Stay.
Dream nodded, then Techno pushed Tommy to hide with him. He watched as Dream pulled Tommy under and held him close with a hand on the shoulders, then turned and moved down the train.
The interior felt different, not still enough. Benches lined the walls still, but something lay coiled beneath and ontop. At first, he thought it was luggage torn out of cases and strewn around, but then he saw it– the faint rise and fall. Skin. Folded into itself, limbs tucked close, faces pressed flat to floorboards. Sleeping, dozens of them.
Techno slowed, eyes wide, then whispered to himself in a soft breath, “Don’t.” He stepped carefully between the benches, avoiding contact but not losing speed. The creatures did not stir.
At the front of the car, a control panel sat cracked but intact, and he let out a breath, sitting in the engineer’s seat and hoping that the other two had enough wherewithal to brace themselves, or that the train would give some kind of warning. The latter, at the least, was provided when his hands moved cautiously to press buttons and levers with labels that seemed right, and the engine stalled and coughed, the sound loud enough to serve as a warning.
Once, twice, then the train lurched forward. The train picked up speed, and Techno felt victorious.
And then the world snapped.
A violent jolt slammed them forward as the brakes engaged, full-force. Techno was thrown out of the seat, body slamming into the wall before hitting the floor, vision going white as the pain seared through his head and down his spine.
“What–” He breathed to himself, and then the front window exploded inward, glass raining across the floor.
The tall thing forced itself through the shattered frame, bending nearly double to fit inside, its head scraping the ceiling even so.
He let out a scream, the sound unfamiliar to him, grating on his throat. He scrambled to get his feet under himself, and the pain faded to the background as he bolted, scrambling to get down the line of cars past stirring skin, dodging long fingers reaching from behind.
As he reached the car he’d left Dream and Tommy in, he saw the two already out from hiding, eyes widening when they saw him, who was chasing him. Not giving them a moment to freeze, Techno snapped, “Move!”
And they burst out the back of the train, into open air. Down the hill, there, was another train car lay half-derailed, rear end still perched on rail while the rest jutted dangerously over open space. They didn’t stop to consider it, they climbed the rear ladder with shaking hands.
The tall thing reached the base just as Techno pulled himself onto the roof. It did not slow, it began to climb.
“Go,” Techno urged, and they ran across the top of the suspended car, metal groaning and trembling under their combined weight. Techno risked one glance down, and wished he hadn’t.
A ravine split the earth beneath them, no bottom visible, just dark. The car shifted beneath, and Dream hissed, “Faster,” but Techno couldn’t bring himself to gain any speed. He allowed the other two to rush ahead.
Tommy leapt first, clearing the gap to the stable car. Dream followed in a cleaner movement, and Techno still lagged a car behind. The latch between the cars shrieked, then tore loose. The suspended car dropped, the angle shifting beneath Techno’s feet.
Out of time, he lunged immediately, but fell short. His hands hit metal and slid, and for a beat, nothing was beneath him. Wind roared up, and his stomach lurched with the certainty of it. This was how it ended. Not monsters, just gravity. And he was so, so tired.
Then, Dream’s hand clamped down on his wrist, hard enough to bruise. His shoulder wrenched painfully as his full weight snapped to a stop.
Techno looked up, wanting to meet his eyes and finding only mask. Beside Dream, Tommy dropped down flat, grabbing Techno’s forearm with both hands. “Don’t you dare,” Tommy’s voice cracked on the words.
The suspended car gave way fully behind him, tearing free from the rails with a scream of metal before vanishing in the dark. Dream didn’t let go, not even when Techno was hauled up, the momentum surging him forward onto Dream.
There, Dream’s arms went around him, tight. He could feel Dream’s frantic heartrate, and it was equally relieving and painful to know he felt something when Techno fell. To know Dream held him close to keep him there.
Tommy collapsed beside them, and the three laid there with ragged breaths, running on empty but unsure what would come if they stop too long.
It was several minutes before they heard the echoing, deafening crash of train cars hitting the bottom of a ravine, flattening under their momentum, weight, and impact. With it, the tall thing went down.
Then, Dream’s hand pushed at Techno’s shoulder, and he rolled off with it. Dream sat up first and spoke through a ragged breath, “We need to move.”
And so, they didn’t stop, even if it felt like the forest swallowed them whole. Roots tore at their boots, branches hit their faces. The ground dipped without warning, and Dream took the lead without discussion– vaulting fallen logs, leaping gaping crevices, cutting hard left where the trail barely existed.
Tommy followed behind, and always Techno lagged a meter.
Behind, a sound like wet fabric dragged over bark. Techno felt bile rise in his throat at the sound, knowing what followed close behind, and he called out. “Don’t stop!”
A ledge appeared too fast. Dream jumped it without breaking stride, Tommy leapt after him. Techno hit too close to the edge, skidding before he pushed off and cleared it.
The skin snakes poured over the ridge behind them. They slithered down tree trunks and spilled across rock, folding over themselves, stretching long and thin to bridge gaps that should have stopped them.
Another crevice, wider. Dream didn’t hesitate, he jumped, Tommy followed. And Techno’s legs burned, but he made it. The snakes hit the edge and stalled for a moment, then several stretched across, skin thinning like pulled taffy until it caught the other side.
“Fence!” Tommy shouted.
A chain-link barrier cut through the trees ahead. They dove for it. Dream vaulted first, barely catching the top before swinging over. Tommy scrambled up after him, not graceful nor efficient, but quick. Techno climbed last, boots scraping metal as the first of the snakes reached the fence.
They hit and recoiled, not violently. Just stopped, as if uncertain.
Techno dropped down the other side, breath coming out in a short wheeze. They ran again, as the forest thinned, the ground levelled, and then it opened. A ravine split the land ahead– wide, steep, and impossible to circle. On their side, the trees had been cut clean, all but one. A single trunk lay spanning the gap.
Dream stepped onto it, the drop below swallowed light just like before, and he didn’t even glance down as he ran across with sure strides. Tommy crossed next, arms out for balance, steps slower. Techno followed last, and this time he knew not to look. Halfway across, a distant sound came through the trees. Faint, tinny, and cheerful. An ice cream truck melody. It didn’t belong here, yet grew louder.
One this side of the ravine, the forest changed. Every branch above them held something draped across it. Skin snakes, hundreds of them. Folded over limbs like discarded coats. Sleeping, unmoving as the three passed beneath.
The music grew clearer, and they broke through another fence, landing on a ledge. The ground dropped sharply to a dirt road below, and there it was. An ice cream truck idling beneath a single flickering streetlight, musc warbling from speakers. The three slowed, just enough to look at eachother, then jumped down into the road.
Headlights flare to life, and Techno’s voice cracked on the only word he could manage, “Run.”
The engine roared, and they took off down the road just as the truck lunge forward, gravel spraying under spinning tires. Dream veered left toward a rocky drop-off, hand reaching back to grab Tommy’s hand, pulling him ahead of himself, “Down!” He shouted. His strides slowed to place his hand against Techno’s back next, shoving him down the drop.
As the two rolled, hidden in tall grass underneath, Techno thought they’d made it. Then, his head lifted and caught a stark lack of Dream at his side.
Above, he heard the truck skid, brake fully, and a thud as Dream fell with a gasp. Just as Techno moved to get up there, the serving window slammed open, a hand came out. Too large, too long, the same wrong proportions– how was it still following them?
The tall thing folded itself halfway through the window, grabbed Dream by the waist, and hauled him upward with horrifying ease. Dream kicked once, boot connecting with skin, but the grip didn’t falter this time. The window slammed, the music resumed, mocking.
Techno felt nausea rise as the truck reversed, corrected, then sped down the road and disappeared into the trees. When Tommy froze, Techno did not.
“Move,” He said, hoarse, and they ran. Not toward the truck, but forward, because it was the only way left.
“We have to find Dream!” Tommy called out, lagging slightly behind, and Techno knew he didn’t want to move this direction.
“We will,” Techno said. “But not like this. We may find him that way, but we’d all die.”
“What if he’s already dead!?” Tommy insisted.
“The same thing.” Techno answered.
Then the road curved and met a stretch of cracked pavement. An abandoned car sat crooked near the shoulder, driver’s door hanging open. Further ahead– a gate. Tall, metal, closed, surrounded by stone walls reaching up to the sky.
Techno reached the car first, and let out a breath, shaky with a lack of actual oxygen to let out. “It’ll roll.”
They didn’t waste time checking for keys. Together, they shoved. At first, it resisted, then gravity took it. The car rolled, picking up speed down the incline toward the gate. Metal screamed, the gate buckled, forced inward, and the car crumpled. Beyond waited the city. Cracked streets, cars littered everywhere. Some smashed into itching, some driven nose-first into walls as if they hand’t even tried to stop. Windows blown out, lights flickering sporadically in random buildings. In the distance, Techno caught sight of the truck.
Techno stepped through first, stride slow as his hand went back to find Tommy’s, steadying himself in the presence so near. Somewhere here, Dream was waiting. He had to be.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
i'd give you the sun if you asked me
you could have all of the time
you could have the stars and the trees
when dividin' up the universe
you could have mine
--
a fanfic of a fanfic for glass! could also be read as a standalone, but i HEAVILY suggest going and reading glass' fics, like all of them. they're so so so good.
mumbo stumbles in the already-dizzying experience that is fatherhood. as always, b is there to steady him.
if you enjoy this fic and enjoy redcreak as much, please go check out the redcreak community glass and i have made! we'd love to see others there to share their own thoughts and creations
A place to share all Redcreak related thoughts, headcanons, and creations!
full fic can be found under cut!
Mumbo sighed in relief when the door clicked shut without a shriek following. Freedom, at last.
It’d been a difficult night. Florence was just beginning to teethe, and the experience left the poor thing nothing short of miserable and confused. Every attempt to lay her to sleep was met by cries no matter how he hummed, rocked her, set a steady hand along her stomach in hopes the pressure would ground her. Every minute of it made anxiety and doubt in himself creep up in his chest. Not in the decision to have a child- gods no, never that- but in his abilities as a father.
Not that he regretted a single second. There wasn’t a day passed when he wasn’t endlessly, overwhelmingly grateful for his noise, demanding daughter. He just happened to be just as grateful for quiet victories- like this one- when Florence finally drifted to sleep. She was his little bloom, a dream made real, and more than he’d ever dared hope for that day in the kitchen when he nervously twisted his wedding ring and turned to B, voice soft but certain, and admitted he wanted a child with him.
Maybe there could’ve been a better moment, but it took a lot to work up the courage, and he seized the moment! It was worth the way B’s eyes lit up, then softened a way they had once before on a cold December night. They’d been bundled in blankets by the fireplace warming them with gentle flame, the room otherwise dark save for a Christmas tree. That was the night Mumbo asked to marry him, listing every reason he loved him until B stopped him with a kiss and a whispered, “Save it for the vows.” in place of a yes.
He shook himself out of wandering thoughts, but found himself smiling. The warmth he felt didn’t chase out the doubt entirely, but if he focused on it then the cold grip of anxiety loosened, just a little. Just enough to steady him until-
The front door creaked open.
Thank the stars- B was home.
Had he really been trying to put Florence down to sleep that long? He felt the doubt surge tighter, press into his chest until breathing felt like work. How could he call himself a competent father when it took him so long to get a four-month-old to sleep? Every night felt longer than the last. He wasn’t getting any better at this, was he?
And it didn’t help that he was supposed to have dinner ready by now. When B had a long shift, the plan was always the same: Florence asleep, the house somewhat tidied, food on the table. That way, when B finally came home after a long day, they could both fall into bed. Exhausted, but together, with the day behind them. Instead, he’d only picked up half the living room, there was no warmth of the stove or smell of dinner, and he felt as useless as he was tired.
He didn’t bother mentioning to himself that this was a self-imposed rule, one B didn’t know about. B had never asked for a sleeping Florence, a tidied home, or dinner ready. Never expected Mumbo to be perfect in these ways. But he always looked so grateful when he came home to a calm, sleeping house. That look of relief… it meant everything. So, no, Mumbo wasn’t afraid B was angry, it wasn’t that.
He was afraid of failing at caring for those he loved, those who loved him. Tonight, it felt like he thoroughly had.
He stood still and silent so long that the door shut. Everything past that blurred into silence, lost to the noise in his head. His arms wrapped around himself tightly, clenched the fabric of his shirt.
He tried. He tried to use the tool B had gently suggested years ago: “Ask yourself if you’re overreacting, just pause and ask.” So he did. He barely managed to form the question, ‘am I overreacting?’ Before answering with an immediate, resounding ‘definitely not.’
Then a warm voice cut through, a gentle whisper to keep the hall quiet outside the nursery. “Mumbo?”
He blinked. His husband was suddenly right in front of him. When had that happened?
He had a sentence ready- an eloquent excuse, honestly- but instead, all that came out was a pitiful whine. Miserable, not unlike the sounds that would escape him the first two weeks they had Florence, when he had no idea what was going on or how to live with it. Had he learned a single thing since then?
Then he was wrapped in his lover’s arms, held by someone he’d come to learn was warmth, guidance, and yet just as lost as him. He hoped B felt that way when held by him, as well.
As tears began to fall soft hands led him down the hallway, through a door into a dim room, onto a soft bed where he was cradled by woolen blankets placed by the same arms that now held his shaking body.
“What happened?” B whispered, now less to avoid waking Florence, and more to avoid further overwhelming Mumbo.
Mumbo’s breath caught in a sob that choked out his words, but he took in a shaky breath to regain his voice. “It took me four hours to get Flo down to sleep.”
“Oh, well that’s alright,” B offered without a second of hesitation. Why was that worse? “Are you upset that you’re tired? I picked up food on the way home- you didn’t answer my texts, but I got your favorite. I figured she was giving you troubles.”
Mumbo let out a ragged breath, buried his face in B’s collarbone and breathed him in deeply. For a moment he considered pretending that was the truth, that he was just tired and hungry. But B always saw through that. “No, that’s not..- that isn’t it.”
“What is it, lovely?”
It took a long minute to gather the right words. He had too many, didn’t want to overwhelm B with every thought at once. He felt a warm hand wipe away tears despite the fact they were replaced just as fast, and leaned into the touch. “I haven’t learnt a thing since she came home.”
He felt and heard B inhale, ready to argue, but Mumbo rushed to continue speaking, even as his words were interrupted by shuddering breaths. “I keep making the same mistakes. I still forget things she needs, I forget which cry means what. When she’s upset, and when I try to fix it, I only make her more upset. I thought I’d get better at this. I thought I’d feel like a dad by now.”
His voice broke, the room felt too quiet afterward. The weight of everything he’d held back hung in the air, and at first B didn’t speak. He just held him tighter, rested his cheek on Mumbo’s forehead as he breathed in and out with the rhythm that he’d learned years ago worked wonders to steady Mumbo.
Eventually he spoke low and steady, and Mumbo felt the vibrations of it in his chest. “You are a dad, Mumbo. Her dad.”
Mumbo let out a sob, followed by a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well- .. tell that to the version of me losing his mind at 2 AM because he can’t soothe his baby.”
“I would,” B murmured without hesitation, pressing a kiss to the top of Mumbo’s head. “I’d tell him he’s doing something that feels impossible with more patience than most. I’d tell him it’s okay- it’s normal to feel lost, even when you’re doing everything right.”
Mumbo shifted, pulled the blanket tighter around himself and tucked himself into B’s chest. “But I’m not doing everything right.”
“No one is,” B said gently. “But you’re sure as hell doing a good job.”
The fell quiet for a moment, and finally the self-doubt cracked just slightly, enough to consider that B could be right, to actually hear him out.
Then B added, “You love her. You try. That’s the part that matters. Not the perfect bedtime, or the clean living room, or the fresh homemade dinner.” He’d noticed Mumbo doing that? Noticed him thinking it was the important part? “Just.. loving. Showing up. And you do that, every day.”
Mumbo’s breath hitched again, but that time followed by a deeper inhale, softer exhale. He nodded slowly, letting the words sink in. Letting himself believe them, even just a little. “I wanted everything to be perfect,” he admitted, voice small. “So you’d come home and feel like everything’s taken care of. So you can rest. Bartending is so overstimulating, I just wanted you to come home to a quiet house-”
His rant was interrupted by a chaste kiss to the lips, and a forehead resting on his own. “Oh, Mumbo. I know,” B said, a hand coming up to gently comb through his hair. “But you’re what makes it feel like home. Not the food, or the calm, or that checklist you made up in your head. Just you and our baby.”
Mumbo let himself search B’s eyes through the blur of tears for any signs. A flicker of doubt, of lies, but he only found warmth, trust, even pride. B was proud of him.
“I think I just needed to hear that.” Mumbo whispered, and there was a long silence.
He was beginning to fall asleep when he realized he was, in fact, actually hungry.
“... My favourite, you said?” Mumbo eventually prompted, and B let out a soft giggle as they separated.
B left the bed with a gentle “stay there”, and made his way out into the hallway.
Mumbo could hear him checking on Florence, the familiar rush of white noise filling the hall when the nursery door opened, followed by a few quiet moments, and then the door softly closing again. Then came the rustling of a paper bag and clink of utensils from a kitchen.
They ate together, as always- the only difference from a typical night being that they were in bed, leaned on eachother.
Mumbo spoke first, told B of notable moments from his shift at the flower shop- namely someone who really wanted to bring lilies to a cat hybrid. Not a murder attempt, but such an intense allergen that it likely would’ve left them red-nosed and miserable for a week.
Then B shared what Florence got up to during the day- she tried to crawl, that had Mumbo’s chest tightening with pride (not just proud of Florence, but of himself and B as well.) and his eyes lighting up with a smile.
They were done with their food at that point, but B shared stories of the bar- drunk customers, terrible dancers, an 18th birthday party that couldn’t have been more chaotic. Mumbo didn’t share much stories of Florence’s evening. Instead his head fell against B’s shoulder as they laid back in their pillows.
He was falling asleep faster than he had in weeks, lulled by B's voice into a relaxed state, and the feeling reminded him of a night years ago. When he held a flu-ridden B, and, at his request, rambled on about flowers until he fell asleep. That night, he’d whispered his love for B into the quiet, knowing the man was too lost in a dream to hear.
With the last dregs of consciousness, he could’ve laughed at the switched roles as B flicked off the beside lamp and pressed a kiss to his temple, whispering a soft, “I love you. I’m so proud of you.”
Mumbo mumbled something incoherent, then he was asleep with that last thought, ‘I’m so proud of us.’
my au, sacrificial lamb, has a new update. i know it links to chapter 1, but there is also chapter 2 as of posting this. so the story now comes with 3.3k more words, rescuing dream. and a car crash.
while this update is shorter, this is because chapters are assigned per place. some will be shorter and some will be longer depending on how long they remain in the place
the chapter is also under the cut.
and a doodle to go along! the text is “koko može srce tvoje ostaviti srce moje?” and it translates to “how could your heart leave mine?” and is from the song zelene su bile oči te by plaki orkestar. the song name translates to “those eyes were green”
the content warning is for the entire story, not just this chapter. not all are in this chapter, but all will come up along the way.
also, this is not beta read.
i want to be very clear, i don't support dream as a creator. however, i've been building this character for years (since long before i knew of any drama) and don't associate them anymore.
The city was not silent, it hummed. Not with life, nor voice, but abandoned electronics. Streetlights buzzed overhead, a traffic signal blinked red over an intersection overfilled with abandoned vehicles. They could not hear the ice cream truck, but Techno refused to lose hope- if that tall thing was taking Dream anywhere with use of a car, it had to be here. He hoped.
Tommy tightened his grip on Techno’s hand, and Techno murmured to him, “Stay close.”
They kept to the side of the street, skirting around the worst of the wreckage. Some cars had sunk nose-first into sudden gaps in the asphalt, pitfalls that split the road without warning. The pavement here was unstable, caved in at intervals like the city had rotted from underneath.
Tommy nearly stepped into one, Techno caught the back of his shirt and yanked hard enough to make him stumble. “Look down.”
“I am looking down!”
“Not enough.” His voice came sharper than he meant it to. The headache pulsed once behind his eyes, pulling in from his temples. He steadied himself– it would pass.
They moved around the next collapse more carefully, forced single-file along the narrow strip of intact pavement hugging storefronts. The windows were blown out here. Mannequins leaned on each other and walls inside a clothing shop, plastic faces scuffed and eyeless.
The cinema came into view at the end of the block. It’s marquee flickered erratically, half the letters missing. ‘C NE A’ glowed in weak yellow against the dim sky. The glass doors were shattered inward, dark lobby left open. And parked, crooked, at the curb beside it was the ice cream truck.
Techno scanned the rooftops first, the alleys, the theater entrance. The truck’s serving window was shut tight, no movement inside that he could see through the smeared windshield.
“There,” Tommy whispered.
“I see it.”
But, a pit took the width of the road. The remaining strip of asphalt that allowed passage was narrow, and the truck took it. When he stared at it too long, Tommy looked at him.
“Youre joking.”
Techno wasn’t.
He stepped closer to the edge of the drop, gauging distance. The intact section curved around the pit, but the truck sat directly in the way. There wasn’t enough room to squeeze past. “If we can move it forward,” Techno said, “just a few meters–”
“With what?” Tommy demanded. “Your mind?”
Techno ignored him and approached the driver side door. The headache sharpened as he rose up on his toes to peer through the window. A bright spike behind his right eye this time. He sucked in a breath through his teeth and steadied himself against the metal. The keys were still in the ignition.
“.. That’s convenient,” Tommy said.
“I don’t think that thing has much worries worth taking it out for. I don’t like it.” Techno said, and he opened the door.
The interior smelled disgusting, like molded and spoiled ice cream- so sour milk with a side of sugar and chocolate. He’d never driven, but he knew.. enough. More than he did about starting trains, and he managed that just fine, so he slid into the seat. Between the stench and posture change, the world tilted, a wave of dizziness, vision blurring at the edges, headache throbbing again. All gone as soon as it came.
Techno turned the key, and he wasn’t sure if Tommy ignored the pain or didn’t notice it. The engine clicked, and let out a pitiful whir. He was startled when the truck gave an immediate lurch forward, but he turned the wheel to steer it away from the pit.
He was just about to press the brake himself when the truck stopped itself, engine sputtering to a stop before everything turned off. Techno kept his hands on the wheel for a second longer, feeling a vague sense of pride for simply moving a truck. Then, sharper, disappointment– because that may have been their best chance at a quick escape.
Techno stepped out of the open door, dropping back onto pavement. He shut the door with care not to slam it, knowing he wouldn’t get much farther if that sound echoed too far down the street. “Out of fuel.”
Tommy made a strangled noise, “Of course it is.”
Techno shrugged, looking toward the cinema, doors still open. They didn’t speak as they crossed the remaining stretch of road, Techno’s hand hovering near the wall for balance as he made his way across the narrow strip of asphalt. In comparison, the creaking staircase was an appreciated change.
Inside, the lobby was dark except for the faint glow spilling from deeper within. The smell hit them next– rotten, molded food and.. something that smelled bad enough Techno hoped they wouldn’t come across it. But, distant, he heard the faint whir of a project.
Tommy leaned close. “You hear that?”
“Yes.”
They moved past the concession stand, popcorn machines cracked and clouded with residue. A menu board still listed prices in numbers with the faint glow of half-dead LEDs. Catching sight of one listing, Techno now understood why Phil never took them to the movies.
The hallway beyond branched into multiple screening rooms, but only one spilled light into the corridor. Techno reached the doorway first and stopped just short of being inside. The screen filled the far wall, blown-out white in places, oversatured in others. The film stuttered between frames out of order, colors bleeding into eachother. Not a movie he recognized, not scenes that made sense. The audio was low but constant, a warping of sound that resembled speech if he strained to hear it.
Straining was a mistake. The headache flared immediately, bright and nauseating. His vision shimmered at the edges again.
“Why does it look like that?” Tommy asked.
“Don’t look at it too long,” Techno muttered. “You’ll get a headache.”
They stepped inside anyway. Every seat was occupied, they could see now. At first glance, it looked like an audience frozen mid-viewing. Then Techno’s eyes adjusted. Slumped shapes, heads lolled, arms limp. A corpse in every seat, decayed and rotted, all facing forward and watching. That was when Techno realized what the smell must’ve been, and it was horrifying to know that the stench of death carried on the breeze from a trench to farmhouse was nothing compared to this, that it could somehow get worse from what he’d lived. Tens of bodies, just feet away.
Tommy made a soft sound, a choked sob.
“Don’t.” Techno warned under his breath.
In life, he’d learned that never worked. Telling someone not to cry would only make them cry, would make Techno feel bad for even saying it. In this moment, neither came. Tommy stifled himself, and Techno felt only relief to the silence.
The audio of the movie fell quiet, only distorted, barely-there music. And from somewhere beyond the screen– not in the room, but the next one– came the unmistakable sound of steps. Tommy’s hand locked onto Techno’s sleeve, and Techno crouched immediately. “Stay low.” He whispered.
They moved between the rows. Crawling through the narrow gap between seatbacks and knees that should’ve flinched at being touched. Techno couldn’t look up at the faces. The screen light strobed over everything, washing the dead feet at his hands in shifting color.
Halfway down the rows, the sound outside the wall came into the hallway. Techno halted with it, pressing himself down onto the floor where it was darkest. He couldn’t see Tommy behind him, but hoped he did the same as the door to the viewing room creaked open, and he forced himself not to check.
But he could see, through the gap between the seats and floor, long legs moving infront of the screen, silhouette cutting through the strobing projection. For that moment, the film cast directly onto it, images bending across unnatural angles of bone and muscle. It walked slowly across the front of the theater. Not searching, not hurried, unaware of their presence, and that alone was a relief.
Techno’s head throbbed so hard he thought he might black out, but he bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to take blood and stayed upright. The tall thing reached the opposite side of the room and went through an employees only door, bending in half just to fit through.
Then, Techno rose, cutting toward the door the tall thing had used. He kept his gaze low as they passed the front of the theater, avoiding the screen’s direct glare. The closer he got, the worse it became. A deep, resonant pounding that made his ears ring. He pushed through the door without hesitating.
The hallway beyond was narrow, unlit, and fell silent when Tommy stepped through and the door swung shut behind. It helped, the headache receding, dulling. Nausea went with it, and he could think again. He could hear the tall thing ahead of them now.
Tommy looked over, alarmed, and whispered. “We’re following it?”
“To Dream.”
The hall ended at a metal back exit. The door stood ajar, cool night air slipping through. Outside, an alley stretched between buildings. Dumpsters overturned, trash scattered in wet piles. A single security light flickered at the far end.
And halfway down the allow, the tall thing ducked into another door.
“Quiet.” Techno said, and they followed.
The door it used hung crooked on rusted hinges, propped open just enough to slip through, a flickering fluorescent light bleeding into the alley. Techno paused at the threshold, listening. Water, not dripping but sloshing. He stepped inside.
The laundromat lights buzzed overhead, several tubes flickering in irregular pulses. The entire tiled floor was submerged under a shallow sheet of murky water, two inches deep at least. Rows of washing machines lined in aisles, every single one running. The round glass doors churned with something pale and sinuous inside. Skin snakes, dozens of them. Maybe hundreds.
The smell was suffocating, mold and detergent, and he found he’d rather it without the cleaning agent used in all the wrong places. Tommy gagged quietly, Techno didn’t comment. The sound of the machines had his headache pulsing again, but nowhere near as bad as the theatre.
At the wall to the far right, behind many aisles of washing machines, stood the tall thing. It moves between appliances with deliberate care, long fingers adjusting dials. It opened one washer, withdrew a pile of dripping lengths of grey skin, and carried it to a row of them hung from ceiling pipes. They draped from exposed plumbing, from light fixtures. They swayed slightly in the circulating air, limp and empty.
The tall thing smoothed one against a folding table, then lifted an iron. Steam hissed just as Techno turned away, but the nails digging into his arm told him Tommy hadn’t thought to avert his own eyes.
Techno stepped down into the water. The cold seeped through his boots immediately, leather darkening as he got behind the nearest row of machines. The hum helped cover small sounds, but the water was the problem. Every step threatened a splash too loud.
“Slow,” he breathed, under the clanging whir of laundry.
Each row formed a narrow corridor between metal bodies. Techno kept one hand trailing along the cool enaml to steady himself. He did not look at what turned inside as they passed.
Halfway through the first room, the tall thing paused, the iron lifted. It’s head tilted slightly, not toward them, but upward as it gave a sniff to the air. Techno froze mid-step, water lapping around his ankles. After a moment, the iron lowered again with a sizzle. He could smell it, now. They kept moving.
The second room opened through a wide archway at the back. No machines here– instead, bathtubs. Old porcelain tubs arranged in long rows like pews, each one filled with cloudy water. Above them, more skin snakes hung to dry, stretched carefully along lines and pipes that crossed the ceiling. Droplets fell steadily from them into the tub below.
The tall thing entered the room seconds after them, and as they ducked behind a row of tubs, Techno silently thanked how lucky they were it hadn’t moved just a moment earlier.
The tall thing crossed the room without looking back and stopped a metal shutter door at the far wall, gripping the handle and pulling. The screech of metal on track had Techno gagging, head pounding, as the shutter rolled upward. Tommy flinched, Techno didn’t dare move.
The next room was dimmer. Concrete walls, cells made of chainlink fence nailed to wood beams. The tall thing ducked inside, the shutter remaining half-open behind it. The halting of the screech allowed Techno’s headache to fade, slowly, to a background hum.
He waited ten seconds, then waded forward, stepping into the new room. Here, no water flooded. The room was lined with makeshift holding cells, and in one of them, Dream. Slumped against the far wall, head down, breathing. Alive.
The tall thing stood far down the hall, back to them, sorting more skins on a metal worktable. Techno’s stomach twisted, and he snapped his head away, scanning for anything useful. In another cell– and open one– there lay a corpse, a crowbar dug into it’s stomach.
Prying it out, Techno ignored the squelching sound, but the sight of blood rushing around it and the smell of it weren’t so easy to push aside. Glancing over his shoulder– more so aimed at the tall thing than Dream, but only getting a reaction from the latter– he saw Dream shoot a frown.
Techno’s heart dropped as the tall thing then turned with a new pile of skin snakes in hand. He pulled Tommy back, stepping into a dark corner with him, as it made it’s way out of the room. The shutter door slammed shut behind him, the screech could’ve made Techno cry if it lasted only a second longer.
Stepping out from the cell, Techno made his way up to Dream’s. He adjusted his grip on the crowbar, wedging it between latch and frame, pushing as hard as he could until the latch snapped. He caught the crowbar before it could fall and add clattering to the already too many sounds.
Techno didn’t wait for Dream to speak, just hauled the door open and grabbed Dream under the arm, pulling him up to his feet. “Can you walk?” He whispered, and Dream nodded.
Techno took his arm away, allowing Dream to support himself. Turning out of the cell, he found the shutter door had been left just a foot open– the tall thing didn’t seem to notice.
They moved, under the shutter, through the bathtubs, between the machines. They reached the laundromat door, moved through the cinema, and only once the doors swung shut behind them did Techno allow himself a breath of relief.
Dream walked between him and Tommy, unsteady but upright. His jaw stayed tight, eyes scanning rooftops, intersections, the empty shells of cars. Techno didn’t ask questions, not yet.
“We need fuel.” He said, jerking his head toward the ice cream truck.
Dream sent a look his way. Not a word, but Techno took it.
They found the gas station three blocks down. The canopy lights still burned– sort of, one flickered violently enough to make Techno’s headache twinge in warning. Pumps stood untouched, storefront windows cracked but intact, no movement inside. A body lay slumped against pump three, one hand still gripped a plastic red gas canister.
Tommy slowed. “That’s…”
“Yes,” Techno said, quiet.
The corpse’s skin looked wrong. Too loose for the original form, but full of something. Lumpy and stretched. Techno approached carefully, crowbar still in hand. Dream hovered back a step, watching the dark interior of the station for anything that may come out.
The canister came free with almost no resistance, it was half full. But, and he knew he was being greedy, Techno unscrewed the cap and took the pump– still active from however long ago this man had been using it. He slid it inside and held down the handle, listening as the gasoline poured inside. The smell cut sharp through the air, and this time he could ignore how it made his headache pulse.
There was a ripple under the corpse’s skin. Tommy saw it first.
“Techno.”
The body convulsed, the stomach split open like paper tearing, and from inside it. Long, pale, layered over itself like folded fabric, the tall thing unfolded from the cavity, rising from the hollowed space, clothes slick and glistening.
At the same moment, everything around them shifted. Dozens of skin snakes slid free from beneath cars, from gutters, from under the gas station door, from rooves. It could be hundreds of them. Each angled to the three boys and moved.
Techno didn’t hesitate. He screwed on the canister cap and ran.
They bolted across the parking lot as the skin snakes surged forward, dragged like Techno would’ve pulled along a cat toy for the barn cats. The tall thing dropped from the ruined corpse and gave chase as well, and it didn’t rush. Each stride already stretched too far, covering ground too quick.
Techno realized, a sickening thought, that it was playing with them. It’d allowed Tommy and Techno to escape and follow, allowed them to take Dream, hidden in the corpse to jump out and scare. Now, it chased, quick enough to keep up but not yet catch up.
The ice cream truck loomed ahead, where they’d left it by the cinema curb.
“You have the keys?” Dream asked.
“They’re in it!” Techno answered.
Dream yanked the passenger door open and scrambled inside as Tommy went in through the wide double doors in the back. Techno threw himself into the driver’s seat and twisted the ignition. The engine turned on the second try. Behind them, the road became a tide of pale skin. The tall thing reached the truck just as Techno slammed on the gas.
They lurched forward. Skin snakes crushed under the tires, and in the mirror he saw he’d left them behind, torn and still. There wasn’t blood. He took a hard right, slamming through a second set of city gates– he’d always thought locking the city up behind walls was a dangerous action, but not for the sake of strange cryptids.
Just as he thought they may have finally found themselves in the clear, the back of the truck was struck hard enough to rock the frame. A glance in the side mirror told him it was that tall thing, long fingers wrapped around the serving window frame as it hauled itself upward.
Techno unbuckled himself and dove out of the driver’s seat, Dream taking the wheel and, a second later, his place in the seat. In the back, utensils clattered indrawers– scoops, metal spades, spoons. He grabbed the first blade he found and drove it through the tall thing’s hand, Tommy’s crowbar finding bone just a second later, and a scream followed the sickening crunch.
It kept reaching, they kept hitting. Soon, it ducked it’s head inside, and as Tommy moved, Techno’s eyes widened. It was like he didn’t even think, he just brought the crowbar down hard on his head, once, twice, then it flattened. And without grasp, it fell, rolling somewhere down the street.
It felt wrong, seeing Tommy take a life. It was violent, wrenching, and yet came naturally. An instinct to survive, to hit at gnashing teeth and clawing hands. He did not know what to say. Was he meant to praise? Scold? He stayed silent.
For a moment, there was only the roar of the engine. No scraping on the metal, no screaming or reaching hands. But as it fell, the truck’s weight shifted, and they picked up speed they’d lost under extra weight.
Then, Dream shouted to the back, “I can’t stop for this ledge!”
And even when the brakes squealed and the truck turned hard to the left in a last ditch effort, Techno and Tommy already sent flying into a wall. Techno’s vision blacked out immediately
